


Spiritbird

by AmethystButterfly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Dissociation, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, Looting and Plundering, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Pirates, Rape, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, enthusiastic overuse of the word fucking, evil simon, i'll add tags as i go, pirate captain louis, probably terribly inaccurate everything but I tried, ships, that's in the warnings but in case you didn't see it, zayn and louis are together at first but it's casual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 00:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19937104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystButterfly/pseuds/AmethystButterfly
Summary: Louis Tomlinson, captain of the Spiritbird, has a long standing feud to settle with Simon Cowell, feared captain of the Dawntress - a pirate without scruples, raiding & pillaging villages all along the coasts of Ireland, England and France.17 year old Harry is a village boy stolen in one of those raids who just wants to go home, but in the last brutal year of captivity, he's lost hope. Now, his goal is to go to the grave with both his secrets - soon.





	1. Chapter 1

__

_~~~~~~_

**PART I :**

_Louis_

♦~☻☼☺~♠

The sun is high as the _Spiritbird_ slices through the waves, flags snapping, crisp ocean breeze urging her forward, and the ship's wooden frame creaks and groans in a rhythmic, eternal cycle. Cold water spits and dissolves into salty sprays along the boards of the deck and catches in the bleached-blonde hair of Louis Tomlinson's first mate, Niall Horan, as he emerges from below decks.

“Tommo! What the hell're you grinnin' about?” Niall yells as he spots Louis at the wheel and bounces up the stairs of the quarter deck; Louis laughs at that; Niall's always yelling and bouncing; it's a wonder he hasn't bounced overboard yet.

“Just laughin' at yer stupid hair Nialler,” Louis says sweetly, and laughs again, head thrown back, when Niall's hand jumps to his hair and he scowls.

“Hell's wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing; it's ridiculous, like always. It's perfect; wouldn't change it for the world,” Louis reassures him, and his first mate rolls his eyes.

“Well you're in a fine mood this mornin', Oh Superior,” Louis smiles brightly at that and begins whistling a tune as his hands find the well-worn grooves along the ship wheel that feels so natural it's like an extension of Louis himself. He whips out his compass, checks it, and pockets it with a few well-practiced motions.

“That I am,” Louis murmurs in agreement, but his eyes dart to where Niall's watching him fondly, and Louis has to look away before he breaks into another wide grin; it's just been getting to him today, how beautiful his life is. It's been getting to him, the high sun and the perfect temperature of the sea breeze cooling his skin and the sparkling water in every direction. Louis rolled out of bed alone this morning as he got up to make breakfast – his usual morning oatmeal and tea - but it was with a quiet and easy contentment that he moved around the ship, knowing that it was his ship and his crew and his best mates below deck and him, and that was it – some of the only things that mattered to him in this wide, wide world, together with the open sea and pure freedom. He felt like singing, so he did – after taking over the last night shift and checking over the ship in the wee early hours of the morning, double-checking knots and that they were headed in the general right direction, Louis climbed to the top of the lookout and sang a couple of old ballads he still remembered. Zayn had come up during that little impromptu performance and thrown him the middle finger on his way to hunt for his own breakfast; apparently, Louis had either woken him up, or Zayn was just being his normal self - it was a 50/50 chance, really.

“Well, since you're being a sap, d'you wanna head to Dublin?” Niall says it oh-so-casually, like this isn't a discussion they've had dozens of times before, and Louis sighs.

“We've been over this, Niall. Too dangerous. Those are Cowell's waters; I don't fancy getting into a brawl with him, especially not with such a small crew.” Winter had just ended, spring was here, contracts were up, and as usual Louis needed a fresh handful of crew members to bulk out his ship. 

“Hey! Who're you calling small?” Liam's voice drifts up from the lower deck, and Louis and Niall both look over at their weapons-specialist-turned-cook.

“Not you, Payno, you're huge in every way,” Louis deadpans, and for a moment everyone freezes to see if Liam gets the joke; he's a little oblivious, that Liam, but then -

“For the last time, I am not having a threesome with you and Zayn!” Liam shouts, throwing up his hands and storming away, presumably to go find Zayn and food, and Niall and Louis cackle at the wheel.

“That ne'er gets old,” Niall wheezes. Louis' leaning on the wheel giggling mischievously.

“He's missing out, though,” Louis sighs.

“Don't wanna hear about it, mate.”

“Really? Because I'll have you know, Zayn has a really nice -”

“OKAY, I'm following Liam if you don't want to hear my list of reasons why we should go to Dublin.” Louis sobers up sufficiently to figure out what Niall just said through his thick Irish accent.

“Nialler, honestly, you know I'd love to port in Dublin, I just don't want -”

“To get into a fight, yeah, got it. But don'tcha think it's worth the risk? Captain, all I'm saying is, if we managed to sneak in, I could find us new crew in a few days. Fighting crew. And then, BAM!" Niall makes a clap with his hands like he's smearing a bug into his palms, "No more Simon Cowell! We can mount a fight on the way out. We'll even expect it, prepare for it the whole time. Simon won't see it comin'."

Louis sighs. They’ve had this conversation before, and no doubt they’ll have it again, too.

“For the last time, _no_. Cowell's _good,_ Niall. Like, _really good._ There's a reason he's the most feared pirate from here to South Africa. I'd need more than a few days to prepare for a fight with him even with willing, able-bodied fighting men. Plus we'd be right in his territory. Cowell has eyes everywhere, and he’d come after us if he caught wind that we were in those waters. It’s way too risky.”

“You need to stand up to him at some point, captain,” Niall says wisely, undeterred. “Running away forever won’t work. It’s going to come to a head one day, it always was, and we all know it. Instead of running away, we should just prepare for the fight when it comes. Maybe Cowell's the most feared pirate of his day, yeah, but maybe there's a reason you're the _youngest,_ most _respected_ pirate captain ever, too.” Louis doesn’t respond, a little blown away by both the flattery and the challenge implied in Niall's words, for once speechless. He just looks at Niall for a long moment, then looks away, gazing out at the sea. He’s probably right, is the thing. And Niall seems to know it, too, because he claps Louis on the shoulder and goes, “Whelp - breakfast!” and leaves for below deck where Liam is no doubt taking over the task of cooking up breakfast for the sleepy crew. Louis stays at the wheel for a long while after that, thinking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual assault

_~~~~~~_

_Harry_

~ ♫҈♪ ~

Eleven months. Harry thinks he's finally calculated that right in his head, judging on previous guesses and the season they’re in now; he's been staring at the same spot on the wall in the captain's cabin of the _Dawntress_ all morning, listening to the sounds of the boat and the sailors out there, trying to puzzle it out. Harry thinks that's as close as he can get to an accurate timeframe for how long he's been here. Lying here mostly chained to a bed on a boat, to be specific.

He shifts his right leg and the chain links clink, following it. The skin under the cuff is raw and chafed, healed and broken open again many times over. It's a constant, incessant thing: Harry has to shift often or it digs in, but there's no where comfortable to shift _to._ So it's just constantly moving, chafing, and moving again. There's a nasty little smear of blood on Simon's blankets where Harry's ankle fits that's never been cleaned. In almost a _year_. Harry wrinkles his nose and looks away, trying not to think about any of it, but that's hard when your own smell and the chamberpot at the end of the bed remind you of where you are even with eyes closed. He would think Simon would demand he take more baths, seeing as he's using Harry as his bed boy, but if there's one thing Harry's learned in the last year, it's that pirates are disgusting. Or at least these pirates are. 

At first Harry had clung to the hope that he might escape, or be saved, running wild fantasies through his head until they were clearer to him than the sunlight that shone through the cabin's door whenever it opened; when that didn't exactly pan out, he'd moved on to despondency, and now... well.

He barely cares that he's being used for sex anymore - he just wants to stretch his damn legs, maybe look at a fucking seagull or something. He'd like to look at a seagull again. Probably not a fucking one, though; he's had enough of fucking.

During this last month Harry's taken to making up catty comments in his head in response to everything he hears going on on deck: _oh, having trouble with the sails, are we? Oh dear, now we all might die, how terrible. I can't think of anything worse. Goodness, the food is bad?? Guess you'll have to kill me and eat me. Alas._

It's not intelligent and it's not even fun, but it's all that gets Harry through the bleakness of the days; he really doesn't want to think about it, about what's happening now or what might happen in the future. The only thing Harry's proud of is that he still hasn't told Simon either of his secrets, and he doesn't plan to. Simon doesn't even know Harry _has_ secrets, but fuck him – Harry's still proud of that because honestly, it's all he has left, and he clings to the knowledge of both of them with the strength of a drowning man, because that's all he is, now: another drowning soul lost at sea.

A sound outside the cabin takes Harry's attention from his thoughts and immediately his body seizes up; with a conscious effort, he forces his limbs to relax and his heartbeat to slow down by taking deep, even breaths: no matter how much it happens, he still can't seem to control the blind terror that grips him whenever the Captain comes into the cabin. When he'd first seen how scared he was, Simon had laughed; he'd liked it. From then on Harry had trained himself not to let it show, but still in those private moments... he could hide his terror but he still felt the subtle trembling underneath it all.

Another sound, and Harry jumps slightly again, heart rate picking up despite himself as the door handle opens; Simon rarely comes in here during the day, so Harry doesn't worry too much then, but that doesn't mean he can't; after all, the definition of a slave is you aren't the one calling the shots.

But it's not Simon.

Instead it's one of the crew - Dan. Harry remembers him because he's the one who captured Harry in the first place, from the hometown on the seaside. Harry had lived there all his life with his mother and sister, and now he doesn't even know if they're alive.

His heart is thumping loudly in his chest, now, as Dan leers at him and leans down to pet Harry's hair.

“Captain said I could borrow you for a minute,” he says, matter-of-factly, and – no. _No no no no no no no no._ Harry's become used to Simon's nastiness by now, but he’s still not used to the crew. Not that he’s ever going to get “used to” any of this. But Simon is predictable, Harry can mostly anticipate his next move at this point, and that predictability is better than none.

He can't handle this, Harry knows he can’t. His health’s been teetering for a long time, his nerves are completely shot, whether Simon knows it or not the only thing getting Harry through mentally was telling himself that he’ll die soon, and before that as long as he stays up here, in the cabin, he’ll only have to deal with Simon’s nastiness and not the others’. The thought that he was wrong about that sends Harry over an edge he hadn’t quite realized he’d been on until this moment - he starts to hyperventilate, can’t help it, and Dan sees this and looks, if anything, even more pleased. He's reaching into his pants and Harry is trying not to black out in panic.

The next sequence of things happen in what feel like a suspended bubble of time: the pirate grabs Harry's jaw and squeezes it open, proceeds to shove himself inside. Harry yells, struggles to turn his head free, and then Harry….

_....bites._

It wasn't really a plan or a thought: The howling that fills the small cabin sounds like a wild animal, and it just makes Harry more terrified even though the howling’s not his. The next thing he knows, he's being hit, over and over and over again, and apparently Harry forgot to _stop_ biting, because someone else rushes in, and there's more hitting, more howling, more prying of Harry's jaw, and then there's just pain. Everywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

__~~~~~~_ _

_Louis_

♦~☻☼☺~♠

They’re in _fucking_ Dublin.

Louis can’t believe it, he can’t actually believe he’s this much of a pushover - Louis Tomlinson, the great fearless pirate leader, who got swindled by his own crew into going where he swore he never would. Yeah, that one. Louis the Dead, they’ll soon enough call him, at this rate. He’s got no sense.

At least this is how Louis chides himself internally even as his mouth twitches at the corners with a smile at Niall’s whoops of delight as they catch sight of his beloved home city. Zayn has gone even more quiet than usual, his dark eyes honing in on the land like a hawk for some unknown reason, so Louis figures they’ll just have to find out what that’s about soon enough. He's curious but he won't push until Zayn's ready; that's always been the best approach when it comes to Zayn Malik, Louis has found.

The rest of the crew are watchful and a bit jumpy, as they should be, but they're all collectively happy to see Niall so cheerful about being in his homeland once again, and happy about the ale. Dublin has world famous ale, and they’re all eager to dock so that they can hit up some pubs and drink to their fill. Louis himself is excited about that, too.

And he’s excited for one other reason.

An old friend, Ed, is in Dublin, and despite his hesitancy to come, now that they’re here, he’s the reason Louis is almost as eager as Niall to get his feet on the land.

They take the long way around the city so that it's night by the time they pull silently up to a secret port and pay the small fee (Niall knows the guy) and then it’s off to wandering mostly in groups. They all know that this is dangerous, and there's a plan. Most of the crew make a beeline for the main street and the pubs, as expected. A smattering go off to individual shops and the market, even though it’s almost too late for that.

Louis follows his feet to the Green Clover. He feels sure he’ll find his oldest and gingeriest friend here, and it does not disappoint.

“Louis?!” Ed gasps in amazement from behind him, and Louis whirls around to find Ed Sheeran, seated at a table with a group of his friends around him, some Louis’ seen before and others he hasn’t, although a few of them look like bards with the familiar instruments hanging from their fingers or belts. A tune always seems to be playing around Ed, for he’s the greatest bard Louis has ever seen or heard of or met, and that’s saying something. The man is a legend, surrounded by music and song and dance everywhere he goes.

And, surrounded by gossip. After all, he’s not a bard for nothing, and bards collect stories - it’s literally their job.

“Ed!” Louis exclaims in real joy, and reaches out to hug the man, who rises from his seat to meet him. They gain curious looks from those around them, but Louis pays them no heed as he sits down on the wooden bench beside Ed, grinning and immediately ordering a round of beer for all of them, which puts him into the good graces of even the most skeptical of them. Some bards are rightfully distrustful of pirates, after all, and Louis is subtle but he holds some of the tell-tale signs, and certainly the commanding presence and stance of a captain, after all this time.

“What brings you to these parts, Lou? I thought ye were done with them - these waters being Simon’s haunt, an’ all that.”

Ah, Ed. Always knowing right where the sore spot is, that one. You can say what you want about the man, but he gets right to the matter faster than any of them. Ed has a gift for reading the human heart.

“Aye, that’s true, but Nialler wanted some proper ale,” Louis explains cheekily, which prompts a round of uproarious laughter from Ed and some of his friends that Louis knows.

“Did he, now? And you said yes just for that? I thought ye more cautious, I’ll admit, but a brave one - aye, maybe braver than I’d given ye credit for, Louis. Brash, but brave. I’m glad to see yeh here, either way.”

“Thanks, lad,” Louis offers, almost shyly, for while he is brave, he thinks Ed sees some of the foolishness as well, and he doesn’t want to dismiss it. This is foolish - it’s risky, and Louis really needs to remember that. He tries to shrug it off, though, onto a new topic. “So, what’s the news on the mainland?”

There’s absolutely no one better to ask, to get the lay of the land - Ed understands people so well, plus he’s so central to the collection and literal making of many of the mainland’s stories, that he’s able to ask the right people the right questions without making them worried, or butter them up with a couple of beers first so they forget, and then he discerns it all with the well-worn eye of an storyteller, a common man, and an outsider all at once - in Louis’ opinion, three of the most potent traits combined. Ed knows this, and Louis always rewards his friend handsomely for his perspective, news, and opinions and wise advice. They used to do these catch up meetings frequently before Simon cut Louis off from these waters with his menacing presence. Louis resents that greatly.

Ed gives him all the gossip and stories Louis’d missed in their long absence - a butcher’s wife who had run away and turned up five towns away living in a house with the tailor’s wife whom everyone had assumed dead a year earlier, whose love story Ed had now turned into a song (“The butcher tried to demand his wife come home, calling her a witch, so she took 'im at 'is word and put a curse on 'im that said, 'Ye shall never pass the borders of yer home town without turning into a toad' and now the poor man's living here in Dublin an' won't do naught but trade with the nearby towns, he's so scared, an' 'is lady's living far away, happy as can be with the tailor's supposed dead wife, an' she told 'im to send her half a pig every other month or she'll make it worse” - Louis and Ed share a long cackle over that one), a fisherman who claimed to have seen a monster on the sea last October (“Bigger than a boat he said, Lou - I worry. He seemed earnest but also drunk out of his mind. But I’m not sure if he’s drunk because he really saw it, or thinks he saw it because he’s really drunk”), and an unfortunately vicious new string of pirate raids storming the villages - a growing trend, Ed had said grimly, and Louis frowned deeply in response.

Louis had never raided a town with his crew. It was something they didn't do. He himself was a 'recruit' from a such a raid. That’s how Louis had become a pirate in the first place, and he swore when he got his crew that he wouldn’t do the same. They did, however, steal from other ships. They needed to make a living, after all. 

"There was a woman who came through port a while back," Ed says, non sequitur, scratching thoughtfully at his ginger beard around his neck, "Real fireball, a mother looking for her son."

"A woman?" Louis said confusedly, failing to see how this is relevant. Ed nods distractedly, lost in the telling of his own story as he squints up at the wall like the memory is painful to retrieve from his mind.

"I dismissed her. She was begging for a ship that would take her on board and help her find her son. I told her no one in their right mind would take a woman on board unless she was very rich and could pay them in gold to do it, and she got mad - real mad. Most mad I've ever seen a bird since I was living with me own ma, to be honest. And maybe not even then."

"Okay..." 

"The lady finally listened to me I think and took off for home. I thought, 'hey, her son's probably dead anyway, so what's the point?' But then a coupl'a months ago? Cowell and his crew stop by and Cowell wanted a doctor, so he goes to see Stan, an' Cowell swears Stan to secrecy about it."

"And did a fine job of it," Louis points out cheekily. Ed gives him an annoyed look. "So Stan says, 'Okay,' and goes aboard ship into Cowell’s Cabin, and you know what he found?" He leans forward. "Her _son_. Stan asked for his name, he told me it, said his last name was Styles, same as that woman's. Stan said the boy looked likedeath. And then he found out why: the reason Cowell wanted a doctor? The kid'd tried to kill himself using a piece of glass from a broken mirror. Cut himself on the wrist. Stan says when he went to treat him the boy didn't even want his help." Ed stops, cut off by his own train of thought, clearly emotional and disturbed. "He was young, Lou. The lady who came through said he was sixteen when he'd been captured and it's been close to a year now. I'm telling you - I don't know what the Devil's going on on Cowell’s boat, but if you have a beef to settle with the man, I'm going to go out of my way for once in my life and stick my neck where it doesn't belong and say - no, beg - _settle it._ For the love of God, somebody get that monster off the sea. For my sake, or for Stan’s. He doesn’t want to be treating Cowell’s poor creatures for the next two decades, an' I don't want to be hearing about it." There was a beat as Ed seemed to relax after telling his story, reaching for his mug and draining it.

"Why Ed," Loui says in mock wonderment, "What's this? Sticking up for a stranger to start a war? You big softie."

"Lou," Ed grumbles darkly, "Shut up. I'm emotional. M'having a drink."

"That you are, Ed lad," Louis affirms, slapping his hand on the table as he calls for another of the aforementioned drink. "Anyway, no matter - I've already got me eye set on Cowell, as it happens. 'S why we're here, actually."

"Ye are?" Ed says, looking up from his ale in astonishment. Louis laughs, though it's bolder than he feels.

"Of course we are! I'm here to pick up new crew and then..." Louis makes a vague gesture with his hand but Ed understands his meaning and his eyes widen.

"I think I might have some people ye need to meet, Lou," the bard says, and Louis' heart pounds.


	4. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major warning for suicidal thoughts in this one.

_~~~~~~_

_Harry_

~ ♫҈♪ ~

Twelve months, two days. That's what Harry thinks it's been, the new officially unofficial calculation, but he's down in the briggs, where there isn't any light, and his guess is based mainly on the sleep cycles of the crew in the other room, which are unpredictable at best.

A whole year. It’s like some kind of grisly anniversary. Perhaps he should celebrate.

Harry's accepted that he's going to die; the beating he got when he bit Dan’s… well. Suffice it to say Harry’s never tried that before, and now he knows - viscerally - why not. His whole body is still bruised. He's got lash marks that were never there before all down his back, two healing black eyes, and his jaw still hurts every time he moves it.

He stares despondently at the muck left behind from the swabbing process, at a pool of unidentified liquid just outside his metal cage, at the dark, damp planks all around him. He coughs and his throat flares up with pain because he's been coughing too much since this chest infection; on the plus side, Harry's discovered that the more he coughs, the more the crew leaves him alone. They don't want to catch something. On the downside, this probably means Harry's going to get killed sooner rather than later. Whoops, did he say downside? That's probably the brightest way of looking at this entire situation.

Captain Cowell still steals Harry to his cabin some nights, but he seems to do it only out of pure addiction – that's what Harry has finally figured out, that Simon's not actually in control of himself. If he was, he would've thrown Harry overboard before now. But Harry supposes Simon can't fuck the crew, and in the meantime Harry's got to look like he's 'learning his lesson,' so the briggs it is. Too bad it wasn't the plank instead.

He's just getting to the darkest part of his hourly thought cycle when there's a sound. Someone's voice, shouting: feet running, pirates going up on deck to see; someone opens the hatch closest to Harry and light shines in; huh. So it must be day, then. Harry's brows furrow. He needs to figure out where he went wrong in his calculations. If it's day, then maybe one year two days is wrong. Maybe it's been slightly more than that. Or less than that?

Whatever's going on up on deck doesn't interest him; Harry hears more shouting, voices – the cannon goes off and just... okay. Whatever. He can't be arsed to care. So they're in a fight with another ship. Whoop-dee-doo. He leans over and smudges his finger through the swabbing liquid and stares at his mucked up finger. Is this stuff poisonous? Can he eat it? Will it kill him or just make him very sick? Maybe he should just try it?

There's rather a lot of chaos going on on deck now, and Harry's thinking. It could be the law, finally busting the pirates. More likely, though, it's just more goddamn pirates. Harry doesn't feel like seeing any more pirates in his lifetime, thanks. He'll take his chances with the would-be poison. He pops his finger in his mouth and immediately gags and spits all over. Wretched, _wretched_ idea.

There are footsteps coming down the hatch, and everything's gone quiet. Harry bothers to look up and sees... another (albeit unknown) pirate. Great. Good. This is wonderful. Same old, same old, then. And he's probably not even poisoned himself, to top it all off.

“Hello. And who might you be?” the voice is surprisingly high and light and cautious, and the man, who looks surprisingly young, approaches with an equally light step, and... good God, is that concern on his face as he approaches Harry's cell? Why is he faking concern? Harry's bewildered and suspicious; in some far, buried corner of his brain, something tries to tell him this could be good, that maybe this is a new chance for _hope,_ but twelve months or whatever of getting beaten and raped has pretty much extinguished Harry's faith in that feeling, so he shuts it down before it can even start. He remembers thinking the same thing when that doctor - Harry cuts that thought off quickly. 

“Fuck you,” Harry says flatly from his cage, and the man looks taken aback, but he doesn't laugh. God, _thank you,_ he doesn't laugh. Harry's aware that he's sitting flat on his bum in a metal cage with bruises all over him and he's not muscled or strong-looking and probably his face still looks like a fucking child if what he remembers about mirrors is anything to go by _,_ so the fact that this person doesn't find his insult comical is... well, it's the nicest thing anyone's done for him in about a year, really – give or take a couple of days, that is.

“Are you one of Simon's, then?” Louis asks, eyes narrowing, and Harry – honestly, he just doesn't even care anymore, so he just opens his mouth and lets it say whatever it wants:

“Just hurry up and kill me, then.” And – okay, even Harry's a bit taken aback by the words, but it's too late, and the shock on the other man's face fades to something darker, less open than it had been initially, and now Harry's worried. What if… ? Did he just ruin something potentially positive? … No. He's a pirate. Harry knows what pirates do. He was right to say that, he should just request death until they give it to him, and let that be that – no more hoping, no more taking chances. Get it over with.

“That's some nasty bruises you've got there,” Louis says slowly. “Surely that's not a sign of loyalty to your captain that you got those. I’m Captain Louis Tomlinson - heard of me? No?” Harry doesn’t shake his head but his blank expression must give him away. The name sounds vaguely familiar but he doesn’t know why. Or care. Also - oh, great, yet another pirate captain. How thrilling.

“I could offer you a position where that doesn't happen, if you cooperate.” Louis gestures to the bruises. And – _oh,_ the guy thinks Harry's part of the _crew,_ now it all makes sense: the concern, the niceness. Okay. Harry's just gotta play along and make sure he doesn't find out Harry's not a sailor, that he's for _something else –_ Louis doesn't need to know Harry knows next to nothing about ships and pirating and, more importantly, nothing about how to defend himself.

“Why the fuck d'you assume I'm not loyal to Simon just because I'm in here?” Harry challenges, and part of him is proud of how roughly he barks out the words. Former Harry was all soft and gentle and didn't know how to be unkind. He's learned a lot. The new pirate captain raises his eyebrows in a _well-I-mean-you're-in-a-_ ** _cage_** look, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he backs off, raises his hands.

“Okay, suit yourself,” he says, but he's eyeing Harry like he doesn't believe him, like he's _appraising_ him, and – fuck, no, Harry doesn't want any more of that. No more of _that_ look, please.

“I'm not interested in _working for you_ ,” Harry summons up all the acidity that twelve months of torture have bequeathed upon him and channels it into his tone, making it as sneering and awful as he possibly can, “So you may as well just get it over with and _kill me._ ” He almost delivers it. Almost. It's so close that for a moment, Harry thinks that this guy, whoever he is, almost believes him, but then at the last second his voice falters, and the _kill me_ part comes out a little too pleading, a little desperate, and the man before Harry frowns and takes a step forward. Harry does his best impression of the wooden boards all around him and makes his expression flat and featureless. He picks a spot on the cage bars and stares blankly at it while the man inspects him. After what feels like a small eternity, the guy seems to have come to a conclusion.

“I'm opening the door,” he warns, and lifts a pair of keys that Harry hadn't noticed he had until now. His heartbeat picks up again, traitorous as it is, and Harry uses everything he's learned not to flinch when the man steps inside with him.

“Up you get, to your death like you've requested,” the man drawls. He's either one cold bastard, or he's toying with Harry, or both – his tone is slightly playful. Harry tries to mobilize his feet and falls over. He tries again. By the third time, the stranger seems to realize that it's not going to happen, because he grabs Harry under the armpits and hoists him up until he's standing, and Harry cautiously takes a few steps forward. God, he barely walks anywhere. Usually if Simon needs him he gets one of the crew to toss Harry over their shoulders like a sack of potatoes; they, at least, know not to expect more of him.

“I can do it,” Harry snaps after a moment of the stranger's hands holding him too long, and immediately the hands withdraw, and Harry scrabbles at the bars of the briggs for support. There's something about the way the man is hovering that's making Harry tense, and he wishes he could get away but clearly he's in no condition to do anything other than hobble feebly to his execution. Well, at least it _is_ an execution, Harry tries to reassure himself, and not another Hell like the last year. Somehow, this thought isn't as comforting as it was only an hour ago.

At that moment, an ungodly sound overrides everything that’s been happening up to this point - it’s not a cannon, but it’s as loud as one, and the very bones of the ship vibrate with it. Harry almost loses his grip on the cage but Louis grabs him and holds him up as Harry regains his hold on the bars and they both look wildly around, but there’s nothing to see from the bottom of the stairs. A second later a body appears at the top of them.

“Captain!” A blonde man yells down to them. “We've still got Cowell and his crew under control but there's a - something - look, you just need to come up and see!”

Harry sighs, wishing this was all over with already. He doesn't care, what’s up there, honestly, he just wants to not have to deal with pirates, ever again, and now even his death looks like it’s getting delayed. He lets the acidic dialogue in his head rest for a minute though while both parties seem to become conscious of him at the same time, their gazes resting on Harry, who grimaces.

“Don't mind me, I'll just... crawl up the stairs or something,” he says, and to his surprise, the captain – Louis – throws back his head and _laughs._ It's big and bright and Harry actually had forgotten what that kind of laughter sounded like. It feels like there's a hole being punched through his chest, and sunlight pouring in, but he's distracted when Louis claps him on the shoulder and Harry flinches.

“Nialler, would you mind escorting this little birdie upstairs?” And with that, he disappears, and “Nialler” bounds down the stairs and stands there awkwardly as Harry finds himself trying to maneuver his legs towards the steps.

“D'you... er... want a hand, then?” the blonde man hovers, but this time it's purely awkward hovering, so Harry doesn't shy from it; anyway, he's kind of tired.

“Uh, yeah, if you wouldn't mind,” he mumbles quietly, glad that the other pirate captain is gone so he doesn't witness this sudden meekness. “Nialler” grabs Harry's left elbow and wraps an arm around his waist, and together they make their way towards the steps.

“Yeh wouldn’t _believe_ what’s up there,” Nialler says conversationally, and Harry’s about to either dismiss it or ask what he means when there's shouting, another horrendous, louder-than-a-cannon noise, and the boat… lifts into the air. It’s a peculiar sensation, one that Harry’s mind questions even as his body tells him that’s _definitely what’s happening,_ and then they fall back down with a tremendous _CRASH_. Harry crashes similarly into the blonde man in the narrow corridor of stairs, and then slides down, legs collapsing out from beneath him. Nialler abandons him in the next sudden lurch, bounding up the stairs and out of sight. Harry's left halfway up the steps, alone, and free for the first time in too long. He takes a moment to suck in a lungful of air as his body registers that yes, something disastrous seems to be going on, maybe the boat is going to sink and he's probably still going to die, but for just this moment, Harry's not in chains, he's not in a cage, he's not being watched or manhandled – he's _free._ Relatively. He could almost cry with the joy of it.

And then another jolt, this time stronger, and the boat shudders in an impossible way, and some of Harry’s thoughts catch up with what’s actually happening – sorry, but did they just get _lifted_ and dropped back into the water?

Harry scrambles on all fours up the corridor, and at first the light is so bright above board that nothing registers as anything: just sounds and white, white, iron-hot light. He squints and clings to the last bit of railing up the stairs and listens to the screams of sailors as his eyes adjust, slowly, to their new surroundings, and then he sees it – a great, slimy octopus-like tentacle wraps around the railing of the _Dawntress,_ animated, alive, and moving toward them. A second tentacle seems wrapped in the ropes and sail. It's tightening it's grips: a mammoth, almost featurelessly huge head is slowly rising out of the water, with hundreds of round, alien eyes peering down at them.There are pirates screaming, crying for their mothers, shouting and praying for God; several of them jump ship right then and there. Harry just squints back at the thing with watery eyes. He doesn't feel scared or confused or hopeless. He actually doesn't feel anything. Maybe because for the first time in what feels like forever, Harry knows _exactly_ how to handle the situation he's in. He never told Simon Cowell his secrets.

They have a name for this beast, in Harry’s hometown. It’s said with respect: _Kraken._

Nialler and the other captain are up on the highest deck, shouting, trying to fall into some kind of formation with swords drawn, and meanwhile most of Simon's lot are tied up individually along the railing – the few that weren't have already dived into the sea. Harry stumbles forward, releasing his grip on the railing even as the ship shudders, another great slimy limb emerges from the sea, and Harry falls to all fours and opens his mouth to sing.

“Ooooooooooaaaaaiiioooooooo.....” The song is ancient, indecipherable even to Harry, who just knows the sounds to make, the shape and feel of them as they move through his lungs and blend with the wind. It sounds just like a lullaby.

It's just a fairytale – lost magic from a lost time, but Harry's mother and several of the elders of the village had always insisted that they were descendants of the Sea People. She'd made Harry practice lulling seals to the shore when he was younger, before he decided it made him feel too different. He just wanted to be normal, at the time. Ha.

Gradually, the ship stops rocking. The giant limbs of the Kraken settle, and everyone is staring at him. Harry blinks down at the deck between his palms, everything still way too bright. He's shaking; he's starved and dehydrated and he barely has the muscles to stay upright and he's _terrified,_ he barely recalls what not-terrified feels like anymore, but he forces himself to keep singing, shakily. New pirate captain and old are both staring at Harry like they've never seen him before, but he barely notices. He's losing consciousness, is what it is. It's too much. The boat lurches as one of the Kraken's heavy limbs falls limply from the sails, smacks onto the deck and slithers off – his singing cuts off as his arms buckle, and Harry gasps into the wood grain of the deck, blinking black spots from his eyes, and the ship shudders again; the Kraken’s not happy unless he's singing, and Harry can't – he can't -

_I thought you wanted to die?_ A little voice asks him snidely from the back of his brain, and it's like old Harry and new Harry are clashing: yes, new Harry wants to die. He's seen too much, he's been through too much – but there's a tiny part of him – he thinks of it as his old self – that wants to _live._ Wants to live so, so bad. It makes his heart pumping weakly in his chest ache to finally feel it again, that spark of life, but yeah – in this moment only, he knows he wants to live. He can't speak for the other moments, but this one he can. Too bad he's blacking out.

And then there's a hand on his shoulder, bracing him as the ship rocks again, as the chaos returns, and the new pirate captain is shaking him.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t you leave us, come on!” Harry looks up blearily to see his face, which is suddenly very close, and he thinks, _blue eyes._ That's pretty much his only thought, but the hand on his shoulder keeps shaking him, grabs his chin. The face attached to the eyes is speaking, and Harry wants to listen.

“Can you sing again? Sing?” the voice asks, urgent and insistent.

Oh, yes – sing. Harry was singing to the octopus, wasn't he? He tries to find his lungs so he can fill them with air and do it again. Instead he finds his heart still thumping weakly, sustained by black thoughts for too long, and he can't remember – _does_ he want to live? What did he decide again? This is confusing.

“Harry, SING!” that's not Blue Eyes – that voice belongs to Simon, and Harry's not sure right now if living is still a Thing for him, but he knows he doesn't ever want to do what this man tells him to ever again. He looks up to the owner of that voice. Louis follows his gaze, but Harry isn't paying attention to him; ah yes – the Kraken. The giant squid about to kill them all. The black thoughts resume, but this time they have purpose: Harry finds his voice again.

“Aaaaiieeeeeeeeeeaaaaaa....” his voice is different this time, not soothing at all: commanding. Harsh. It doesn't even sound like him. Instantly, the Kraken’s limbs respond, but not by calming: instead, they pick up speed, harsher than before. The limb that had fallen reaches back out of the water like a whip, cracking the rigging, the mast - Harry's eyes are pointed straight at Simon, whose eyes have gone wide with terror. Harry thinks that's the best expression he's ever seen on the man.

“Harry? Harry, stop! Stop it, you'll kill us all!” Louis' at his side, annoying, shaking him, and Harry tries to push him off but he's to weak. A voice slaps over Harry's mouth and the awful noise he was making is silenced, and Harry comes to his senses. What was he doing? What – _no,_ he wants to soothe the Kraken, not anger it – doesn't he? His own thoughts confuse him; his mind is roiling in turmoil – kill them all or save them all? He can't decide; it seems too good of an opportunity to pass up, to just _not_ kill Simon and his entire crew right now. And Harry's on board with dying, isn't he? He keeps thinking it, so why - ?

Bright blue eyes interrupt his train of thought. Blue eyes that are beautiful, and desperate. It's the fear Harry sees in Louis' eyes that does it; fear like that – yeah, Harry can _understand_ that. And all at once it's not a choice, anymore. He makes the fucking soothing sounds come out of his mouth and they work. He keeps singing and Louis' arms are braced around him now, holding him up, and Harry slumps against him because _why not,_ and he keeps singing, mindlessly, weaving a calming lullaby that's too quiet to really be heard but somehow, rises above it all until it floats like magic through the air, calming them down. Louis' shouting orders from where he's kneeling cradling Harry in the middle of the deck, and slowly all the chaos lowers.

“Okay,” Harry hears Louis shout at Simon's crew, “We're leaving this ship. You're not welcome aboard the _Spiritbird, now or ever_. If you live, remember we spared you - this time.” One of Louis' crew makes a show of walking up to Simon and several of the other tied up members of his crew and placing a blade at their throats, to show that they could, and withdrawing it.

He drags Harry along, stumbling and voice warbling, and Louis and his crew members go to the edge of the _Dawntress_ ; Louis’ ship lost it’s connection with the _Dawntress_ , but Nialler and one of the other new pirates seem unbothered. Their crew on the other ship are already swinging long ropes with hooks on the end that bury deep into the wood of the _Dawntress_ to reel her back in. A rope bridge is tossed between the two and Harry is shuttled along, Louis' hands guiding his: "There! See that? Reach for that clove hitch!" Harry looks around in confusion. "The clove hitch!" Louis yells. Still Harry doesn't understand. Louis points, and drags Harry's hand to it, and then he's urging him along, to do what he can, which is crawl gingerly along the rope bridge while Louis himself grabs the back of Harry's shirt and hauls Harry several feet at a time every few seconds until they're on the other, undamaged ship. Just as fast the rope bridge is cut, stranding Simon and his crew. The Kraken is still hugging the _Dawntress_ as they begin to float apart, the bridge of water between the two ships reaching thirty, forty, fifty feet - 

Louis shakes Harry's shoulder gently every so often so that he keeps singing, and then they're setting sail and rowing furiously away with the wind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big warning for dissociation episode

_~~~~~~_

_Harry_

~ ♫҈♪ ~

Harry lets his voice stop singing, but Louis is still holding onto him.

“Thought you wanted to die, little bird,” he says softly, and Harry can't disagree.

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying, cracking open one eye to stare back into those blue ones. “But you didn't,” he says simply.

“What?”

“Saw how scared you were,” Harry mumbles reluctantly, uncomfortably. He's seated on the stairs on one of the upper decks, Louis perched a step above him, legs parted and cradling Harry between them, apparently; how did that happen? Harry's head is slumped against Louis' sternum, and Louis is looking down at him, and his expression is one of... Harry closes his eyes because he can't handle whatever soft emotion he sees in Louis eyes.

Most of the crew is below, still rowing furiously, trying to put as much distance between them and the Kraken as possible, the rest are dealing with the wind and sails, the debris and damage, the cut up bits of rope lying around and the gouges in the otherwise gorgeous wood of the _Spiritbird._ Only a handful of what appear to be the pirate captain's closest mates are gathered around their little huddle.

“Hey; I brought sum'n,” the blonde one is back with something in his hands.

“Nialler,” Harry mumbles, still mostly out of it, and the man laughs.

“It's Niall, but some idiots call me Nialler,” he says, kicking Louis leg fondly. "This is Zayn and Liam." Niall points to the other two standing close by, who come closer once named, obviously curious about this prisoner who just tamed a Kraken in front of them. They're intentions are probably friendly, but Harry still has to suppress his panic.

“Thank you, Niall,” Louis says, and lifts up the water he brought. “Harry, lovey, can you sit up?” Harry struggles to lift his head, and the one he's only heard of once now – Liam – comes forward to help him, and Harry jerks away. “Easy, easy,” Louis says, and Harry almost misses the looks of concern passing between Liam and Louis. “Liam, maybe step back, yeah? Think this little bird's seen a little too much.”

“'M not a _little bird,_ ” Harry says crossly, but it's weak.

“Okay.” Louis agrees with him, so calmly. “Can you drink?” he brings the cup of water to Harry's mouth, and Harry leans back against Louis, grabbing the cup with both hands and doesn't even care that the other three are standing there watching as he drinks it desperately down. His head is spinning. “More,” Louis says, handing the cup to Niall, and the blonde trots off and comes back again, and they repeat the process several times, until finally when Harry blinks his vision is actually stable, and he's gasping for breath but his heart is beating a little steadier. 

“What the hell happened out there, Lou?” Zayn says, tension in his voice, eyes darting to Harry.

“Yeah... I'm confused too,” Liam admits. “Cowell attacked, and we were winning, but then that _thing_ showed up... and then… singing? What _is_ he?” Liam's gazing at Harry, and Harry suddenly shrinks into himself, trying to hide. He's had enough of people staring and examining him. Louis is watching all of this closely, and, oh God, Harry feels himself _blushing._

“I'm not sure..." Louis begins, speaking to Zayn, Liam and Niall, "I've heard of some people who can allegedly calm the sea and stuff like that... but I thought they were myths.” He turns to look at Harry. “Is that why you were in there? Because Cowell was trying to use your power?” Well – okay, sure. That's a good enough story for Harry. He nods curtly and looks down. Louis frowns. “I don't get why you were in the briggs, though. Doesn't seem like a great way to get a... whatever you are to cooperate. Or the beating you up part, either. Why'd you try and tell me you were part of the crew?”

The questions are dizzying, but Harry tries to think.

“I was part of the crew,” he covers quickly and firmly, “But I got in a fight. And stop saying I'm not loyal,” he adds that last part just to try and reaffirm his earlier tale in the brigg, but Louis snorts.

“Right, but you already use past tense to refer to being in the crew, and oh - loyalty, that's why when you looked at Simon all you could think to do was send your giant attack-dog-squid after him. Because you're so _loyal._ ” Harry's blood freezes. He's forgotten that part. He tries to backtrack.

“Er-”

“Please don't,” Louis sighs wearily. “I don't care. Whatever it is you're hiding, it's clearly your business. The only thing that matters to me is that you clearly hate Simon Cowell, and he clearly hates you, and you're a magical being that apparently wants to die. Correct or no?” Harry's a little stunned by the bluntness, but he appreciates it. He thinks all this over, and decides he agrees with most of it.

“Mainly.”

“Which part did I get wrong?” Harry can't say it. Not after he – he just can't retract what he so boldly stated in the briggs so soon after he said it. Louis' torso is leaned right up against Harry's, though, and he can feel his heartbeat, which has decided to kick up the pace since being asked that question. “You don't actually want to die,” Louis guesses softly, and Harry tenses. Adrenaline pours through his veins because – because when your will to live gets used as a bartering tool against you, it's not good to admit that. Even to yourself. 

Louis' small group of crew are all standing around staring at him, and Harry can't meet any of their eyes.

“Shit, I'm getting him some food, he looks like he needs it,” Niall says, and strides off.

“I can draw up a bath,” Liam offers, and Zayn glances at him, then down at Harry.

“My clothes should fit 'im,” Zayn mumbles, and then he leaves, too. Harry's overwhelmed; he doesn't know what's going on. Are they -

“Is this real?” Harry says softly, and Louis' arms wrap around him and it breaks the spell; Harry feels claustrophobic.

“Harry? You okay?” Louis says as he starts squirming away from him.

“Bath,” Harry gasps desperately. “I want – a _bath_.”

“Oh – kay...” Louis says, concern in his eyes, and he stretches out a hand to help Harry up. Suddenly it's all Harry can think about: he wants to feel clean. He wants to be alone, with even just a small bucket of water, and feel _clean_ for once.

They make their way unsteadily to the captain's cabin, which Harry momentarily balks at, until he realizes his options are limited: either he can bathe alone in there, or do it out here on the deck with everybody watching, or go below deck, which - nope. Captain's cabin it is. 

It's strange to be in a different pirate captain's cabin. That's the first, most overwhelming impression Harry has: just strangeness. There's none of the smell of Cowell's cabin, in fact - it actually smells _nice,_ lightly perfumed and woody. It takes Harry a minute to figure out where the chamber pot even _is._ There are similarly hoarded little treasures in Louis' room as there were in Cowell's, except Cowell's room was so overcrowded and crammed that it was hard to see that the stuff inside it was actually _nice._ Louis' room is simple, with a broad dresser/writing desk along one wall and the bed taking most of the space on the other, with a little decent floor space in the middle. The curtains are open, which is baffling to Harry. Cowell never opened the curtains, not even once. Harry lived in darkness or semi-darkness almost the whole year aboard the _Dawntress._

And, best of all, there's no signs of chains or anything that might be used to tie Harry up. He wasn't really expecting it, but the relief comes all the same. 

Harry takes all this in in a few brief moments by the door as Louis shows him in. Liam has set a bathtub in the middle and is currently hauling water in buckets, passing through the door every thirty seconds or so. 

Louis seems to be watching Harry carefully, but the boy has nothing to hide or give up particularly at this point; he doesn't know what Louis wants, why he's watching him, unless... his stomach lurches in familiar dread. Unless he does know. 

He tries to ignore him, this strange new pirate captain. Tries to remind himself that he has a chance, now, for something different. He just needs to play off his ignorance somehow, and make Louis think he's loyal to him, until they land on any port and Harry will run away. It's that simple. Easy. He can endure anything he needs to until then. The thought lightens his heart considerably, even with the lingering dread that maybe Louis will _want him_ for that, just like Simon. 

Once Liam's finished, Louis closes the door behind Harry, and he's alone. In this strange, nice-smelling, tidy cabin. Harry shucks off his old, filthy barely-rags-anymore clothes and sinks into the tub of water. It's cold and salty, but it's been a blazing hot day outside and Harry has zero intention of complaining or even expecting a bath at all _._ Simon hadn't given him a bath once - the most he'd do was hand a bucket and rag to Harry once a month and order him to wash, but it wasn't the same. Harry sinks into the bath with an audible sigh of relief and immediately submerges his head underwater. He has to curl up tight into a ball just to do it, but it feels amazing. Just to have a moment of complete unawareness of the world, to feel the electric shock of the cold, the familiar tang of salty water - all of it feels fresh, amazing, like a luxury even though Harry's spent this last year surrounded by the very same salt water. He begins to scrub himself clean, every inch, getting his hair first with the bar of soap Liam left next to the tub, then scrubbing his whole body with the same until his skin actually _squeaks_. Once he's done he steps out of the dirty water and wraps himself in the drying rag that's left there (not exactly clean itself, but Harry will take what he can get), and finally steps into Zayn's clothes.

For the first time since he was torn from his village, he's clean, fully clothed, alone in a room that's not locked, with a window and a clear view of the sea and sky. Harry steps towards the window, feeling numb but not unhappy, and looks out at the setting sun. The sky's ablaze with orange and hints of purple; a couple of stars are beginning to peek out of the inky blue dome. A seagull flies by. A _fucking_ seagull. Harry laughs.

_~~~~~~_

"So what I can't figure out," Louis says slowly, standing just inside the cabin of this new ship, _Spiritbird,_ so different and yet at the moment so very parallel to the _Dawntress,_ "Is why Simon would keep someone with your powers in the briggs, and beat you, when you're so clearly a powerful asset. Which seems to indicate he didn't even _know._ You were hiding that from him, weren't you?" Louis fixes Harry with a look of such intense scrutiny that Harry has to look away, look down, look anywhere. They're still in the cabin where Harry had his bath, which is bad enough. They’re alone, which is worse - Harry had been in the room alone for a whole twenty minutes before Louis came back in, asking more questions. Harry's curled up on the bed, unintentionally trapped there since Louis knocked and walked in. He can feel his skin crawling, he's sweating, heart pumping, trying to hide it. He doesn't want to do this with Louis, he doesn't want this pirate captain thinking and making guesses and putting pieces together - god, this is why he should've just finished it, earlier. Should've just begged for death, or let the Kraken carry on -

"So you really were just part of his crew? But then why do you hate him? Why don't you know what a clove hitch knot is? Why -"

_"Kill me._ " Harry snarls around the words. He sounds barely human, he's pretty sure that came out on a sob, he's aware that he looks pathetic but honestly, if it will save him another year or even _years_ of what he's just been through, he's more than willing to try. Instead, it seems to work the opposite way he wants it to - Louis' face goes blank for a moment with complete shock, and then it softens _again -_

"Yeah, and why do you keep asking for that," Louis says softly. His voice is barely above a whisper as he ponders Harry, and Harry won't look at him now because he knows he knows. he can feel it, how the air shifts as Louis figures it out.

“You were his bed boy,” Louis breathes, and just like that, terror plummets through him, a wave of icy cold and hot at the same time feels like it’s surging through Harry’s whole body, flooding his nervous system, submerging him from the inside - reality feels faint and watery and distant in comparison, he hears Louis' breath catch at the same moment, as if he's watching Harry so closely he's flinching at Harry’s reaction.

"I don't - please - don't - I can -" Harry isn't sure what he begins saying, he's babbling, there's actual nonsense coming out of his mouth right now because all he can think is he has to do something, _now_ \- trade something, he has to make an offer, he has to say something this new pirate captain will accept in order to not hurt him, or maybe just so he'll kill him quick -

He doesn't realize he's hyperventilating until he finds Louis up close, hands lightly touching his shoulder and talking, trying to calm him.

"Hey, hey - breathe. Harry, breathe. It's okay. You're okay -" Harry shakes his head, pulling his face away, eyes frantically scraping the room for an exit, an escape - Louis didn't lock the door, so maybe Harry can just jump over the side of the boat? Louis is following Harry's gaze and he grabs his right arm before Harry bolts, firmly, like he knows what he's thinking. He probably doesn't, he just can tell Harry's about to try and run away.

“ _Don’t,”_ Louis commands, and the sheer weight and power that his tone manages to convey somehow breaks through Harry’s desperate, blurry state and Harry stills, doesn’t make a run for it - but he feels something flip in his brain at the command, feels his face slacken and his expression go blank. Harry can feel it on himself, knows the one, the same empty-eyed way he’d get with Simon, after a while, if he was lucky -

_“Shit.”_ He hears the new pirate captain cursing to himself, doesn’t understand it - a very small part of Harry wants to understand it, to know what’s going on in these new surroundings, but he feels like he’s underwater, this is all too familiar territory still and the larger part of him doesn’t want to know what’s happening. He’s not going to come up for air anytime soon, not if he can possibly help it.

Instinct and experience over the last however-many-months on the _Dawntress_ have taught Harry that this underwater state is better than the alternative - to be alert, awake, conscious, is not his ally. So if he finds himself in this state, if he can possibly help it, he stays in it as long as possible. Harry can feel his mind digging in to do just that, to stay weird and fuzzy for as long as physically possible, numb and protective, and he feels calm. Comfortable. There are no worries at all in his mind as he floats, his consciousness almost detached and curious, outside of his body, unconcerned with what happens to it. He can see the new captain, Louis, talking to his body. Or. He thinks that’s what’s going on - he can hear words being said but none of it makes any sense, it’s just nonsense, that Harry doesn’t need to mind, because it doesn’t matter.

_“Okay, Harry, I’m leaving now. I won’t come back for a while. You can sleep.”_

The words make no sense to Harry, but the tone doesn’t scare him the way Simon’s did, and when the captain leaves there is a sense of huge relief. _Good,_ Harry thinks, distantly. _Now I can figure out a way to die in peace._

Instead, within a few minutes of floating alone in this strange new room, his eyes get heavy and he collapses into a deep, undisturbed sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_~~~~~~_

_Louis_

♦~☻☼☺~♠

“I don’t know what to do.” It’s the first thing Louis says when he emerges from his cabin, looking shaken.

“About what?” Niall asks, bewildered.

“About Harry.” Zayn replies, easily stepping into the little huddled conversation outside the cabin, and Louis sighs.

“Yeah. That.”

“Somethin’ goin’ on?” Niall asks, like he’s sure now that they’ve retrieved Harry from Simon’s ship, fed him and given him a bath all must be well. Niall is not one to get dented by life; if Niall is in a foul mood, it’s always something that’s happening _present-tense_. It’s raining or he doesn’t like what one of the crew members said to him that day or the food’s mouldy - and once it’s solved, he’s over it. Done and done. Louis admires that about him but he can’t quite… relate.

“Kid’s fucked up,” Zayn deduces easily, taking out his smoke pack from underneath his vest. It’s a familiar ritual that steadies Louis’ nerves even by association.

“Yeah,” Louis says again, eyes flitting from Zayn’s adept hands filling his pipe, to Niall’s look of non-comprehension, to the starry sky beginning it’s evening light show for them. _The best part of the day,_ Louis would usually think, but right now his mind is preoccupied with a lot of other things. 

Louis waits before speaking again, because -

“Whelp, I have to go.” Niall leaves, clearly perplexed and out of his element, which Louis fully expected, leaving Zayn and the captain alone with the stars and the sea.

And Zayn’s pipe, which he lights up and passes to Louis, who gratefully accepts.

The captain of the _Spiritbird_ looks over at his Second Mate and sometimes-lover, watches the pale curls of smoke and the way they leave the curve of his lips, the heavy weight of his long eyelashes as they look out at the horizon. Zayn is by far the most beautiful man Louis has ever met, and their relationship is strange. It’s easy, yet complicated - somehow the two of them have an understanding, an inherent camaraderie that the others don’t get, but it’s still… surface.

Sometimes Louis thinks it’s his fault, for not putting in the effort it would take to pry and to get to know Zayn better. Other times he thinks it’s the other man’s fault for staying so aloof, so permanently unknowable. Other times he thinks that’s just the cards of the universe being dealt, and that it’s no one’s fault and there’s no blame to share anywhere - it just is what it is, and Louis likes it, and Zayn seems fine with it, so he shouldn’t complain or overanalyze their dynamic. He’s glad to have Zayn as a companion in his life, for whatever time, in whatever capacity.

But in the end they’re not as close as everyone assumes they are, even though they sleep together, sometimes, when they both feel like it. And yet they understand each other pretty well better than anyone else on this ship understands either of them. At least that’s what Louis likes to think, on a good day. When he’s not mad about some small thing Zayn’s done, like drinking his portion of beer and then some. Again.

“We had Cowell today. We _won,”_ Louis begins. He takes in a deep breath of cold air and stares wonderingly our at the stars.

“I know.” Even Zayn sounds mildly impressed.

“And then a _Kraken_ had to spoil it for us, of all things.”

“I _know,”_ Zayn says, even more emphatically. They stand in silence for a long moment, pondering the Gods and their place in all of it for a long moment.

"Unbelievable," Louis sighs, taking another puff of smoke into his lungs and breathing it out. "What we saw today was just .... unbelievable, mate."

"Yeah." Zayn nods in quiet affirmation. "'S part of why I love this life, Lou. What keeps me to it: the adventures, the _stories_ we get to not just tell, but be a _part of._ Incredible."

"Hm." Louis murmurs in assent. "A Kraken and a Sea Witch... person. All in one day. That _is_ incredible. That's one for the books if I ever heard of it, and we were both there. And survived to tell the tale! While fighting another pirate captain!" Louis guffaws, stares up at the stars in delight, in awe of what his life story has become, that all those words that sound so fantastical are true and apply to his life and he was really there to confirm them.

"I know," Zayn says one last time, as if wrapping it all up in a familiar statement - the fantastical, the unimaginable, the wild and adventurous, and Zayn always has something to wrap it up in for both of them, so they can store it away and pull it out again on a more mundane day. Louis shakes his head, appreciative.

“You know you can’t just return him home, though.” And immediately he's brought back down to Earth, just like that. Louis feels himself getting defensive.

“Why not?”

Zayn doesn’t even look at him. “You know why. We return him, and every pirate and government official and slave trader who hears of anything about magical Sea People who can control a Kraken will come knocking. He’ll just get captured again. Not to mention Simon.”

“Simon’s as good as dead by now,” Louis snaps.

“You don’t know that. You know he’s tougher than most people give him credit for, Lou.” And for a moment Louis knows Zayn is alluding to the experiences they both share on board that ship, so long ago, and he shivers. He wants to forget it. Sometimes Zayn is like a living reminder of those days for him though, and that’s both a good and a bad thing.

“I’m not going to kidnap him, Zayn.” Louis asserts, ignoring the bit about Simon. “He deserves to go home. Hell, he _needs_ to.”

“I’m not saying you are, and I’m not saying he shouldn’t. Just that he can’t _stay_ home.”

Louis breathes a deep sigh.

“I’ll tell him, but I’m not making him do anything he doesn’t want to, Zayn. He’s had enough of that.”

“Hm.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Is he stable enough? To be making those decisions?”

“Is he stable enough - _what?_ We’re all on our own here, Zayn, making life and death decisions every day, and none of us are what you’d call ‘stable.’”

“Okay. But - if he decides all he wants to do is go home and stay there, you have to warn him, Louis. Thoroughly.”

“I will.”

“It’s your _responsibility_ to make sure he knows, _”_ Zayn reiterates, as if Louis hadn’t heard him the first time.

“Zayn, _I know._ Thank you. I’ll do what I need to. But that doesn't mean I'm not taking him home. So he has an actual _choice_ _.”_

“Okay.” And they drop it. Just like that. Zayn passes the pipe back to Louis, who declines. He’s really had enough for one night.

“Thanks anyway. I’ll be in the nest.”

He climbs up to the crows nest and spends the whole night there, watchful and sleepless.


	7. Chapter 7

_~~~~~~_

_Harry_

~ ♫҈♪ ~

He dreams of the little church in his hometown sometimes. Wakes up with blurry images fading in his mind's eye of Sunday mornings, sunlight streaming through the windows onto the townspeople gathered in their best dress, freshly cut flowers under the archway where the priest spoke to them from the dais - the light-yellow stone courtyard just outside, with the fruit trees shading a beautifully carved stone bench. It was in that courtyard Harry used to sit sometimes, before or after Sunday service, or on a melancholy morning or two, and think about his terrible secret. He would agonize over it in silence, staring at the carved marble face of Saint Angelus looking blankly down on him, and wonder what his life could ever amount to if he only ever preferred men. It had been the greatest suffering in Harry’s life at the time, this secret. Sometimes Harry laughs at his younger, more naive self. Other times he holds back sobs in the dark, because he thinks maybe Simon & his crew are his punishment. Harry never really had to ask _why_ it happened to him: he _knows._

_~~~~~~_

Harry wakes up from the dream about the church disoriented, and that’s bad - disoriented means something happened that he couldn’t keep conscious track of, disoriented means something painful and terrifying either has happened or is just about to happen. So it’s no surprise that he jolts awake, already full of adrenaline, eyes closed but wide awake, taut, alert, listening. He strains every muscle to hear what’s around him. If he could feel into the air around him he would, but he can’t, so he just listens, checks his body for any unpleasant sensations before finally allowing himself to open his eyes just a crack.

He’s in an unfamiliar room, but there’s nobody with him. Harry sits up, looking around cautiously, terrified of this Unknown, trying to recall what happened.

The image of a kraken forms in his mind, and then the rest follows, a river of memories: _The kraken. Singing. Simon and his men tied up, crossing the rope ladder, The Dawntress, drifting away. Niall and Liam and Zayn, the bath, Louis -_

Actually, Harry can’t remember what the last thing was. He fumbles around in his consciousness, but it’s blurry. He doesn’t remember. Did he and Louis - ? He remembers feeling upset, for some reason, and then nothing after.

Dread settles in Harry’s stomach. It happened a lot when Simon would come for him at the end of the day, that Harry would just - forget. He looks at the empty room, down at the bed he’s sitting on, at his clothes. They all look untouched other than from his sleep, but Harry doesn’t know how to trust that.

He stands, since that’s the only thing to do. Nothing new hurts, he doesn’t think.

And then - the novelty of what he’s doing sinks through.

He’s standing. _Next_ to the bed. Alone. Full clothed. In a room with a window with an open curtain, with a door that’s possibly not locked _._

Harry takes his first steps to the window and looks out at the morning sun rising over the sea water, the rigging and rails of this new ship. For a minute he just bathes in it, takes it all in - the smells, the sight, the sound, the freedom. Harry takes a few cautious steps toward the door. He twists the handle and it pulls open, and his jaw drops in shock.

_They left it unlocked._

Harry’s actually so overwhelmed that he closes it again, and sits right back down on the bed, staring dumbly. And then a grin takes over his face, stretching from ear to ear, a wild thing, and Harry hears himself laugh - just a small, quiet thing, bubbling over, warm in his chest.

_He’s free._

The thought comes crashing down a moment later, though, when he suddenly remembers the reason for the upset last night.

_Louis knows._

The new pirate captain knows about Harry, he knows what he was to Simon, and probably - the bubble of hope sinks and pops, draining of its brief optimism: probably, he’s told the whole crew by now, and maybe - maybe Harry isn’t so free after all.

He looks longingly and angrily towards the door, to the freedom it promised moments ago, and hates the world.

Harry wants so much to just open it and step out on deck and feel the sunshine and just - breathe. But he’s sure he can’t. If one of them knows, then they all do by now, and that’s all that’s going to be on their minds. It’s not safe.

He curls up into a ball on the bed and thinks. He has to make it through. Even if they know, even if it’s like that, Harry will just have to endure and not piss them off, let them keep thinking they can trust him and when they make port, he’ll get on land and just _run._

He dreads even thinking about it, but Harry’s going to have to _play nice._ No matter what. He grits his teeth and makes up his mind and he sits. And he waits.

_~~~~~~_

_Louis_

♦~☻☼☺~♠  


There’s been dead silence from the cabin all morning, and it’s almost noon. Louis and his crew are getting restless, glancing toward the cabin door, wondering when the newcomer will come out.

It’s a large ship, and they’ve just taken on twelve new hires, but it’s not like you meet someone who can tame a _Kraken_ every day. Louis chews his lip and determinedly looks away, tries not to wonder what Harry’s doing in there or why he hasn’t come out yet.

_Give him time._

That’s the mantra he repeats to himself in his head over and over, but it’s getting hard to abide by, especially since by this time Louis would normally head to the cabin to document the day’s events thus far in his captain’s log.

Instead he waits.

And waits.

…And waits.

Hours go by. Harry hasn’t even eaten. Now Louis’ worried.

Realizing he must cave first, Louis takes a deep breath and strides toward the door of the cabin. Niall sees him and flashes him a thumbs up. Louis doesn’t waste time trying to decipher whether or not that’s a good thing.

He knocks politely on the door.

“Come in.” It’s very faint, but Louis hears it and pushes inside.

_~~~~~~_

_Harry_

~ ♫҈♪ ~

Harry’s curled up on the bed with a blanket wrapped around him when Louis comes in. He hasn’t moved other than to take off his outer layers, waits for Louis to shut the door behind him and come closer before meeting his gaze. He’s lying on his side, coiled up, and Louis looks mostly wary at this point, but Harry doesn’t worry about it too much, because underneath that caution - there’s this _look_ Louis keeps giving him. It’s heated and familiar enough to give Harry the confidence he needs.

“Hello. D’you need anything? Food or water? You can come out of the cabin, you know,” Louis begins slowly. Harry shakes his head and keeps staring at him steadily.

“I can tell you want me,” Harry interrupts, without any lead up, shrugging one shoulder as he sits up, because – well, he _can_. Might as well plunge right in. The captain looks distinctly unsettled, and Harry feels slightly wrong footed. He tries for what's always worked for him anyway:

“You can fuck me,” he says bluntly, “And I'll be good, and in exchange you drop me off at the nearest port.” Every time he speaks, Harry keeps his eyes lowered, which has always worked for him in the past but with Louis he's finding he needs to keep looking back up because every time Harry says something and then checks to see that things are going well, they're _not._ Louis looks vaguely sick, actually.

“No,” Louis says finally, his voice firm. A muscle in his jaw bulges. “No, Harry, you don't have to – we'll just take you home, alright love? Not the nearest port and drop you off, just – _home._ ” It's everything Harry's wanted to hear for an entire year. Not a day goes by that Harry hasn't fantasized of some government ship intercepting Cowell’s crew and rescuing him – and saying those exact words, actually. But this is not a fantasy, and Louis is a pirate, and Harry doesn't believe him. So he does what comes naturally to him now: he glances coyly up at Louis, who admittedly looks back confused and apprehensive, but he won't soon because with one languid swoop Harry reaches out and his hand is cupping Louis crotch, fondling the bulge -

He hears a curse, and then in an instant Louis is six feet away across the room and Harry yelps a little in surprise; the captain of the _Spiritbird_ is standing on the opposite side of the cabin, his body is one taut line of fury, eyebrows drawn in and he's positively _radiating_ anger, and all of it's directed towards Harry.

“I said _NO_ ,” Louis' voice is like a whip through the air, loud and sharp and commanding. “And when I say _no_ I _MEAN no_!” he roars. “ _Is that clear?_ ” Harry's heart is pounding, his eyes are wide with fear; he's shaking and frozen to the spot where he's sitting on the bed, blanket trembling sadly around his bony shoulders. Louis is a small man but he wields his entire being like a sharp sword, and Harry feels his whole body practically snapping into a curled ball, diving away from him, from the sound of his voice cutting into him. His head is twisted away from Louis and Harry waits for the pain to come. After a minute of terrified, huddled shivering, Harry realizes that the small cabin is silent. When he dares to look up, Louis is still standing in the same spot, but his hands are held in loose fists at his side, and his eyes are wide.

“Yes – i-it's – clear -” Harry manages to spit out around chattering teeth, his fingers digging into his leg so he doesn't do something stupid like – _whimper._ Louis' shaking his head though, small repetitive jerks like he wants to say too much and can't think where to start, “I should'n't've – I'm -”

“No. No. Harry, _I'm_ sorry,” Louis takes a small step forward. Harry sways away from him in response, curling back into himself, and Louis lifts his hands in the sign for surrender and waits. When he's sure Harry's watching, he takes another slow, deliberate step forward. It's like Harry is a cornered animal. And maybe he is – Harry can still feel his limbs trembling where his arm is wrapped around his knees, and he can't take his eyes off of Louis now that he's advancing. “I'm sorry,” Louis says again, low and quiet, and he drops slowly into a crouch in front of Harry, holding his gaze the whole time. There's apology in Louis' intelligent blue eyes as he rests on his haunches to peer up at the boy, his hands clasped loosely together between his knees.

There's a long moment of waiting, where Louis just stares up at Harry and Harry stares back at him, like they're trying to figure each other out. Finally Louis' lip quirks in a small smile.

“You've got a little sneaky fight in you, don't you?” Louis murmurs, and Harry's gaze catches on the respect in Louis eyes. “You surprised me, little bird. And you're more perceptive than you look.” Harry waits, but there's something about the words, something about the look on Louis face, that makes Harry feel strangely... unafraid, for the first time. He waits for the electric blue eyes to speak again, and when they do, it's reluctant: “You were right, little bird,” Louis admits wearily, but there's still a warmth in the affectionate nickname. “I do feel that way. Towards you.” Louis looks like he's chewing on something bitter as he says it. “But I would never...I mean – _Gods Above this is difficult_ – but just because I feel that way, and you're...smart enough to spot it, doesn't mean that -” he stops and lets up a gust of air and rocks back so that now he's sitting on his bum on the floor below Harry. His sigh knocks a strand of his own hair down and onto his eyes and right now, Louis looks every bit like _not_ the captain of a pirate ship as he rests his elbows on his knees and stares up at Harry, helplessly lost for words. In another life, it would have made Harry smile. He thinks Louis sees something in his gaze, though, because he tries again, his head leaning forward, eyes earnest and clear:

“Look. Harry. You've been hurt. And you're not alright, and I'm not about to hurt you more. Okay?” Louis says softly, like it's just them and this cabin in the whole world. “Just let me take you home, and – and try to trust that I'm not asking for anything in return, alright? As you saw, I don't like it when my boundaries are crossed, and I would like for that to never happen again. But I didn't mean to scare you. And I – I apologize.” Something about the way the apology comes out – all awkwardly stilted and uncomfortable – makes Harry think Louis doesn't do it very often at all, and this time Harry can't help the smile that he tries to bite back, tucking his lips between his front teeth but he can't stop it, and when Louis looks up and sees the cautious laughter dancing in Harry's eyes his face softens, and then changes into something else. It looks like the want Harry's seen on Cowell and some of the crew of the other ship, yes, but it's – different somehow, Harry realizes now.

Suddenly like a madman Harry feels compelled to know the answer to one more question. He shouldn't speak. Harry has enough sense to know this, at least. Every instinct in him honed over the last year screams at him not to do it, that he's revealing way too much, yet he feels driven right now by something greater than himself to momentarily shuck off his hard-earned armour and say to hell with it, he _wants_ to be known, to be seen, and this is the first step towards that.

“I - last night - did you - did we… “ He doesn’t know how to say it, how to ask what needs asking. “Did you fuck me?” It comes out oddly shy for how bold a question it is, and Louis looks perplexed, bewildered even.

“I - no! What? What do you mean? Of course I didn’t - we didn’t - I mean - don’t you remember?” He gasps out, looking honest and horrified and everything Harry hadn’t dared hope he’d be. Harry shakes his head.

“Not… I mean. No. Not really? I forget, sometimes. I don’t know.” He curls one knee defensively into his chest as he speaks, talking mostly to his foot, and he can feel Louis watching him intently, battling his own confusion to try and understand.

“You forget,” he states blankly.

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t remember what happened last night? Our conversation? Or any of it?”

Harry tenses automatically. “I remember… I remember you figuring out what… what Simon…” he can’t say it. His words are getting jumbled with equal parts fear and humiliation and lingering distrust and confusion, but he doesn’t have to say it for Louis to understand, thankfully.

“So you remember that much,” Louis surmises. “Anything else?” Harry shakeshis head no, refusing to look up at him.

“I saw you were thinking of doing something stupid, I was pretty sure. I wasn’t sure what but I’d put my money on jumping off the boat. So I grabbed your arm and I told you not to, or something like that, and you went all…weird. I don’t know how to describe it. Like you weren’t in the room anymore with me. And so I told you that I was leaving and I wouldn’t be back for a while, so you could sleep. D’you remember any of that?”

Harry tries to, thinks maybe he does remember some of it - bits and pieces, images, not concrete details like Louis’ describing.

“Sort of.”

“Okay. Well. Then I left. And you were in here the whole night.”

“And what about you?”

“I was up in the crow’s nest, thinking. I don’t think I slept a wink.” Louis laughs dryly to himself, and Harry finally looks up.

“So we really didn’t - ?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t tell the whole crew? About me? And Simon?”

“Harry, _no.”_ Louis looks stunned again, surprised by the direction of Harry’s thoughts, but he doesn’t look like a liar. Warm relief pours through him, and for the first time, Harry thinks he actually believes him. For the first time in so long he can't remember, harry feels like maybe he can actually _breathe._

“So the crew doesn’t know." He says it mostly just to hear it out loud again, but Louis shakes his head.

“No. That’s just… some silly thing I needed to deduce for my own satisfaction, and, well, safety I guess. I needed to understand who you are, so that I could figure out if it was safe for my crew to have you on board.” Harry snorts. “Why the disbelief?” Louis asks, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not a danger to anybody,” Harry laughs. He’s met with a blank look of non comprehension. Now it’s his turn. “What?” Harry asks.

“Harry,” Louis begins slowly, like he’s talking to a five year old, “Yesterday is the first day I met you, and you nearly _sic’d a kraken on the man who hurt you._ And you don’t think I’d see you as a potential threat?” Harry flinches slightly at that, but then he stops to really think it over. And he sees Louis’ point.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah. _Oh.”_

They sit in silence for a while, something warm churning and thickening in the air, something other than suspicion and fear that Harry has become so used to.

“So... you mean it? About taking me home?” and for the first time, the quiet longing that underpins Harry's entire existence thrums inside the words. Louis face softens once again, and this time Harry finds he doesn't mind it at all.

“Yeah, Harry. I meant it.” Louis doesn't comment as Harry burrows his face in his knee and lets the tears slide unchecked down his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part One!


End file.
